“Sure.” They said their goodbyes and hung up, and Natasha headed straight back into The Grove and returned everything that wasn’t final sale.
She kept the bra.
She had to stop digging herself deeper into the hole. It was time to make smart financial choices. The sooner she had the money, the sooner she could get the hell out of Dimitri’s house.
No one could know she was living there. That meant saving her coins, and making dinner at home. She prayed Dimitri would be caught up at the restaurant.
13
Three days. Dimitri hadn’t seen her in three days.
He’d fucked up, and he knew it. When he’d woken up and gone to the kitchen for a glass of water, he’d seen her bedroom door open. Despite his earlier decision to give her space, he hadn’t been able to resist looking for her. Coming across her in the TV room in the dark, watching his movie, had mixed up all his emotions.
Still, after all this time, he thought of it as his movie. He’d done others since then, and it wasn’t like he’d produced or even choreographedAliens Don’t Dance,but it was his first big role, and he still thought of it ashis.
When he was younger, he thought he’d come to regret being so well-known for something he’d filmed when he was—what, twenty-two? But it had opened doors for him, gotten him out of the competition circuit and the struggle to find gigs, and thrust him into the spotlight.
He’d thought he was set. But the spotlight wasn’t enough. His star power wasn’t enough.
He’d done more shows, more movies, more cameos. But none of the roles were as big as Reygar, the character he played inAliens Don’t Dance,and none of the movies had soared as high as that one had. And when he’d made a move for Broadway, they’d had to close the show three weeks in.
His own show. His own work, created from his heart. And it was a failure.
It had taken him years to try again, but that attempt failed, too. By that point, his star power had diminished. He had to get back into the public eye.
JoiningThe Dance Offhad propelled him back into the spotlight. It was easy work and it paid well, but he could admit he’d become complacent there. Still, it had brought him to Natasha. Now, stuck in LA traffic in an effort to get home early enough to catch her, he had a lot of time to think about her.
Better than thinking about the past, or his future. Alex had been texting him daily, asking about his plans. Dimitri didn’t reply, because he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have any concrete plans, aside from getting through Natasha’s defenses and learning more about the woman underneath.
But first, he had toseeher.
When he’d offered to let her live in his home, he’d thought having her there would bring him a greater sense of security.Ha.The woman was as elusive as a nearly forgotten memory. She was gone when he woke up, asleep when he got home. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to apologize to her for his thoughtless words, and he didn’t want to do it via text or sticky note on her bathroom mirror.
If anything, he felt even more insecure than he had before.
By the time he pulled into his driveway, he was starving. Despite being at the restaurant all day, he hadn’t eaten much. He parked in the garage, his scowl clearing when he spotted Natasha’s Prius in Nik’s spot.
She was home. And it was way too early for her to be asleep.
He crept into the house quietly, smothering the smile that threatened to take over his features. A melody of aromas greeted him, along with Spanish music playing loudly in the kitchen. As he got closer, he could hear Natasha singing along, off-key.
He lost the battle against his grin. She was fucking adorable. And the music provided the perfect opportunity.
Every time they danced, their connection deepened, strengthened. Neither of them could deny it, just as she could never pass up the chance to dance with him. Whenever he offered his hand, she went willingly, holding nothing back.
It was the only time she didn’t hold back. Even during sex, as open and giving as she was, she avoided his gaze. She expressed herself through cries and moans, yet hoarded her words.
It was hard not to take it personally. But he kept trying.
He lurked in the doorway, watching her cook. She stirred something in a large pan, humming along with the lyrics. Her hips swayed, and her bare feet shuffled in a salsa step.
The chorus started. Dimitri advanced. With one hand, he cupped her hip. With the other, he wrapped his fingers around the wooden spoon before she dropped it.
She opened her mouth, maybe to protest, but he nudged her into a close salsa step, New York style. As they shifted back and forth on the tiny rug in front of the oven, he caught her gaze, let her see how much he wanted her.
Her expression softened; her dark, sexy eyes going liquid behind her glasses, her full, wide lips parting.
Keeping his eyes on hers, he directed the spoon—still clasped in her hand—to his mouth and licked it.
